


Release

by springburn



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Post-Prison, Supportive Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4863725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm Tucker has been released from prison he has no where to go.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. So this started as petersgal's prompt which I posted last week. I had enough for a second instalment that didn't make it into part 1.....so part 2 was born.....I also had a request for more......now it seems you like this story, so it's growing.....there will be a part 3 and possibly more.  
> So I'm reposting it as a multi chapter. And I'll write more as the mood takes me!! 
> 
> Here is the original prompt....
> 
> "a man is set up for something he didnt do,he goes to prison for a few years and then comes out to no one..on the streets he gets more and more into depression until he meets someone at a centre for food..so,long prompt i know..but what do you think you could do with that..??"

RELEASE.

Malcolm stepped out of the car. Paid the man, and watched him drive away.  
Dropped off.  
Nowhere, anywhere.  
Nowhere to go.  
Standing in the rain, everything he owned, pretty much, in the brown paper parcel clutched in his arms.  
Malcolm almost laughed at the irony of it.  
The rows of Paul Smith and Armani suits, the high class furnishings, the Blaupunkt sound system, all the trappings!  
All gone.  
His home, his bolt hole from the world.  
Sold.......to pay the exorbitant legal fees, to defend himself from the circling jackals.  
He lost.  
Crippled.  
Finished.  
All for nothing.  
They had him by the bollocks, right from the start.  
He gave his life for Her Majesty's Government, and ended up being held at Her Majesty's Pleasure.  
Well......he was done with Her Majesty. One way or another he'd been Royally Fucked. In every possible orifice.  
And he was owed. Boy, was he owed. 

Where to now?  
The few hundred quid he had in his bank account wouldn't get him far.  
It was all that saved him from being declared bankrupt.  
He began to walk.  
His shoes felt lose, like his clothes.  
Just simply didn't fit anymore, just like him.  
Somehow he found himself in Sam's street. He hadn't consciously made the decision.  
His feet just took him there.  
There was no one else.....no family, no friends.  
No nothing.  
Hopefully Sam wouldn't turn him away. But he was ashamed to turn up at her door.  
He had no claim on her whatever. Other than she'd been his loyal PA.  
That was it. Purely professional. 

He rung the bell. Stood back. Looking down at his shoes.  
The door opened on the chain, just a crack.  
When she saw him, she immediately closed it to, pulled the chain back and pushed the door wide.  
He could barely look at her.  
Standing there, dripping wet, still clutching the parcel.  
"MALCOLM! ......Thank God!"  
Taking his elbow she pulled him inside.  
Closed the door behind him.  
"Malcolm, you're soaked to the skin. I was praying you'd come to me. But I didn't know for sure if you would."  
Speechless. Couldn't utter a word.  
Motionless, in her hallway, silent. Eyes cast down.  
"Malcolm." She whispered. "What have they done to you?"  
She pulled him to her then, crushed his sodden body against her own, held him fast.  
One hand at the back of his head, tugging it down to rest on her shoulder.  
Numb.  
No emotion. Couldn't even cry. No tears left. No words either.  
"Get in there." She shepherded him into the kitchen.  
"Let's get you out of those wet things, I've got some of my brothers joggers and stuff upstairs, from when he stayed over. You need a hot shower, and a shave.....and Lord above.....a hair cut."  
She helped him undress as though he were five years old.  
Whether she didn't expect him to speak, or realised that he couldn't, he wasn't sure, but she ignored it.  
She ushered him into the bathroom, handed him shower gel, shampoo and a towel.  
"I've only got bic razors, so it'll have to do, but there's shaving foam there, in the cabinet.  
Help yourself. Come down when you're done."  
Malcolm stood under the pounding water. Letting it wash away the smell. The prison smell.  
It was lodged in his nostrils.  
Like a disinfectant smell from hospital, but worse, because it wasn't associated with healing, it was associated with destruction, captivity.  
Malcolm vomited.  
It rose in his throat before he could stop it. It was mostly bile, as he'd eaten nothing, but once he started retching he couldn't stop.  
He watched it dissipate in the flow of water and disappear down the plug.  
There was a metaphor if ever there was one.  
Dried and naked. He shaved.  
The face that stared back at him was barely recognisable. Gaunt. Grey. Old.  
He looked away hurriedly. Towelled his face.  
Pulled the t shirt over his head.  
Made his way downstairs.  
She was waiting.  
She'd been crying.  
Eyes swimming, red, puffy.  
Still he said nothing.  
"What on earth have they been feeding you?" She bustled, opening cupboards, the fridge, the bread bin.  
"Slop mostly." His first reply.  
At the sound of the raw Scots burr, she stopped dead. Frozen for a moment.  
Then quickly continued to rummage, busily.  
Turning her head pointedly away from him, hiding her face.  
"Bacon sandwich.....doorstep slices, HP sauce......coffee........proper coffee.....I haven't forgotten how you take it."  
She turned to gauge him, but he was staring at a point just behind her right shoulder.  
Dazed.  
"SIT! "She barked. "EAT!"  
She placed the food in front of him on the counter, and he glanced at her as if asking permission.  
"Eat..... before it gets cold!"  
Malcolm obeyed.  
Bread.......fresh, and soft, not curled up at the edges. Crispy bacon, not gelatinous with congealed fat swimming around it. Coffee that tasted like heaven. Not like the Thames foreshore at low tide.  
Malcolm closed his eyes and breathed in the smell.  
He cleared his plate, sat back and pushed it away, with a sigh.  
"More?"  
He shook his head.  
"Right! Sleep. Come on......I've made you up a bed. You need to get some sleep. You look like you haven't closed your eyes in months."  
"Don't sleep much in prison.....don't dare." He shrugged, matter of factly.  
Sam forced down a sob. Hid it.  
Took his arm and moved him into the living room. Leading him like a small dog.  
"Sam......I......"  
"Shush! Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it. It can wait. Lie down and rest now."  
He made no bones, didn't argue. Allowed her to pull back the covers on the sofa bed and help him in.  
God, it was so comfortable, and so big......after.....after that fucking single bed made of hardboard in his cell.  
He eased himself down. Let out a deep sigh. Closed his eyes, and sank into oblivion. 

Sam sat herself at his side, watching over him.  
How it had aged him. He looked ten years older.   
The pallor.  
The light in his eyes had gone out.  
The droop of his shoulders, the hang of his head.  
Defeat and resignation.  
They had ingested him, chewed him up then spat him out.  
This is what those bastards had done to him, and she would never forgive them. Never.  
His face seemed relaxed now, the first time in months and months, probably, since he was locked up, that he had allowed himself to be lost totally in slumber.  
Completely given over to it. Without care.  
There was a flicker in the eyelids. A twitch from time to time.  
He would stir, and murmur incoherent words, the hand on the cover, would grip momentarily, then release, as if grabbing for something that he couldn't quite reach.  
Sam couldn't drag herself away. Her hand touched the temple, gently, and he flinched away from the touch.  
It broke her heart.  
Had he even been aware how much she loved him? She doubted it.  
The day after Goolding, she'd cleared her desk.  
They all looked at her as though she was mad.  
False loyalty, they said. Infatuated they said.  
She didn't give a toss. With her box in her hand, she walked away. Gave them the proverbial finger. Never went back.  
There had been no relationship between them, not romantic anyway.  
He was too professional, liaisons in the workplace? .......no way.  
She'd gone to the prison to visit....of course she had. But he'd refused to see her.  
She'd been back several times, but to no avail.  
Then......he turns up at her door.  
Lost. Alone.  
Never had she been more glad to see anyone in her entire life. 

He slept for ten hours straight.  
She made dinner, engrossed in her cooking she turned to see him standing in the doorway.  
Bed hair.  
Ruffled and adorable.  
He looked better already.  
"Well, hello sleepyhead." She smiled, and she saw his face change as she did.  
It crumpled. Suddenly. The lip went, then the chin, his hand to his eyes.  
In a second she crossed the floor and enveloped him in a hug.  
Rubbing his back, holding the back of his head, fingers tangled in his curls.  
"It's okay. Malc. It's okay. I'm here. It's over."  
Renewed sobs.  
"It's over. You're back. And you'll be alright now. You will. You've got me." 

"I won't put upon you Sam.....I'll find somewhere. I only came because......because.....I didn't know what else to do."  
"You'll stay as long as you want Malcolm. Till you get back on your feet. I'll give you a key.  
Tomorrow I'll ring Paul.....he has a furnished flat. You can have it, it's empty."  
"I can't.......I can't Sam.....I have no money......I have nothing."  
"You have me. And I'll help you. You'll get back on your feet and we'll sort something.....okay?"  
"I have to work tomorrow.....I'm a legal secretary now, you know.....high powered!! You can stay here.....use the laptop. Catch up. Get back in the loop. Oh.....and we need to get you some clothes. I'm afraid I threw that parcel away.....  
They stank of......I don't know what they stank of......but it was horrible."  
"I've no credit cards......nothing."  
"You need underwear, socks, t shirts and trousers. At the very least."  
"I can't go shopping. I can't pay."  
"Malcolm, have you not heard of Next, next day delivery? I know it's not Calvin Kline, but you can't be fussy about what pants you wear now you know!!"  
He looked miserable.  
"Malcolm.......! Joke!!! Lighten up!!"  
He tried a smile.  
"Now......hair cut.......sit yourself down here......." She wrapped a towel around his neck and shoulders.  
"Would Sir like the short back and sides......or the bouffant look?"  
He looked up at her, gazing into her face, as she smiled down at him, scissors and comb in hand.  
"Thanks Sam."  
"My pleasure Sir, and something for the weekend?"  
He laughed then, and it melted her into a puddle to hear it.  
"Fuck it all.......you're amazing. You know that? Best fucking PA I ever had. Yeah?"  
"You better believe it! .....Now......head still.....or you'll end up like Vincent Van Gogh!" 

 

Fin.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm has turned up on Sam's doorstep having been released from prison.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the original posting as Release (part two) which now forms the second chapter. There will be more!!

Sam went off to work the following morning, leaving Malcolm sleeping.  
She left notes for him in the kitchen and slipped quietly out of the house.  
Work was the last place she wanted to be, and she was determined to wangle some time off.   
Apologising most profusely for the lack of notice, her excuse that a very old and dear friend, who had no one, was sick and needed her, was not actually so far from the truth.  
Anyway she'd been working her arse off lately......they owed her.......big time.   
Fortunately the office was fairly quiet and her boss......who also happened to fancy her, acquiesced. 

If there was one thing Malcolm Tucker had never ever done, in all the time she was his PA, it was to come on to her, make sexist remarks, pinch her backside, or be rude to her in any way, he'd always been the perfect gentleman, always.   
Toby Johnson, the said boss, seemed to think all those things were completely acceptable, Sam had come close to slapping him on a couple of occasions.  
Smiling to herself she remembered an incident when Dan Miller had been lewd with her one day, and cornered her by the photocopier......Malcolm had gone ballistic.   
Marched him into his office, practically by the collar, tore him off a strip. She had listened, amused, to the tirade Miller was subjected to, about how a man ought to treat a woman in the workplace and just what pain would be inflicted if Malcolm ever caught him behaving that way again.   
Her eyes were kept firmly on her computer screen when he finally re emerged following his drubbing.  
"Cock teaser!" He spat at her as he hurried past. Sam just grinned to herself.   
After that day, Malcolm was always much more aware of her, she thought, he'd always been unfailingly nice to her, and a pleasure to work for, but following that incident, he had her back. She knew it. 

oOo

Reaching home, Sam was astonished to find that Malcolm had not moved all day.  
It wasn't that he'd been too lazy to get up, he just slept.   
Right through.   
Creeping into the room, she could just see the top of his head, peeping out from under the duvet. Her notes were untouched on the kitchen counter.  
He'd eaten nothing and the glass of water beside the sofa bed remained full.  
"Malcolm?" She whispered, bending over him.  
He sat bolt upright.........as if he'd received an electric shock, eyes wide, confused, frightened.   
"It's okay! It's me. Have you been there all day?"   
The puzzled look on his face did not fade, it took him a few seconds to work out where he was, why Sam was leaning over him.......and not someone else.   
"You scared me." He said thickly. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.  
"What time is it?"   
"It's six o clock. Have you really not moved all day? Not even for the loo?"   
Shamefaced, Malcolm shook his head.   
The stubble on his chin, his hair standing at crazy angles, he looked almost demented, from tiredness and strain.   
"Well, you must have really needed it." She remarked with a smile.   
"Your new clothes have come, they were on the doorstep. Why not go and shower and shave and put them on? I'll make us something to eat."   
Without a word, Malcolm obeyed. Shuffling off to the bathroom, still running a hand through his hair as if perplexed.   
In half an hour or so he reappeared.   
"Gosh! You look different! So much better. Rested. Do you feel better?"   
He nodded.   
Sam hadn't got used to how quiet he was. He barely spoke, and when he did it was only the odd word.   
"I've taken the rest of the week off. I rang my brother, Paul, the flat's yours if you want it, from next month. And one of Paul's friends, Chris, who works on a local newspaper, is looking for someone, the salary's not great, but it'll pay the rent and tide you over till something better comes along. I put in a good word for you."   
She bustled about the kitchen as she chatted away to him, his eyes followed her, carefully, but he made no comment.   
Eventually, exasperated by his silence, she went to the doorway, collected him, piloted him to the table and sat him down.   
"You must be starving, you've not eaten since that bacon sandwich."  
His reply was a shrug of the shoulders.   
Sam placed his plate in front of him.  
"What is it?" He asked, looking up at her.   
"Lasagne......what does it look like?"   
"I'm not sure."  
"Bloody cheek! Don't you tell me the prison food was better, or I'll thump you." She laughed.  
Poking it with the fork, he examined the food carefully. Then put a small morsel to his lips, masticating it round and round, before swallowing with evident satisfaction.  
Malcolm didn't speak again but began shovelling the pasta into his mouth as quickly as he could. It was gone in moments.  
Sam's jaw dropped.   
"Any more?" He enquired, pushing his plate towards her.  
"Good lord, Malcolm, you'll get indigestion!!"   
She handed him a glass of water and refilled his plate.  
"Never ate much in there.....the screws spit in it." He remarked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  
"What....?"  
"They spit.....in the food, or the other inmates do, if they don't like you.....so you don't eat much."  
"Malcolm, that's horrible. Truly horrible."   
"Tip of the iceberg." He said, leaning back. 

oOo

It was not long after eating that Malcolm began to nod again. It was as if eight months of very little sleep had finally caught up with him.  
Sam left him curled up in the duvet like a small child. Knees up to his chest, she would go to her own room and watch television quietly so as not to disturb him.  
She must have drifted off herself because she was woken suddenly, by shouts.   
Without hesitation she rushed into her living room.   
Instead of being snuggled in the sofa bed where she'd left him, he was sitting on the floor in the corner, in t shirt and underpants.  
His arms were across his head in a defensive gesture, and he was shouting aloud.   
Warding off imaginary blows.   
He was so far into the corner amongst the furniture that she could barely get to him.  
"Malcolm! Malcolm!"   
She knelt down before him, touching his arms gently, afraid he might lash out, as he was clearly still asleep.   
His eyes popped open.   
Wild. Bewildered.   
"Sam?"   
"Malcolm, are you alright? Come on, let's get you up. You were having a bad dream."  
She helped him to his feet, sat him on the edge of his bed, holding both his hands in hers.   
He was clammy and damp, the t shirt clinging to his body.   
"Sorry..........I'm sorry. I woke you." He murmured.   
"Never mind that, look at the state of you. I'll fetch you a clean shirt."  
Leaving him, she went first to the kitchen, and put on the kettle, then found a fresh top for him to wear.  
When she'd undressed him before, she'd left him to his own devices once he was divested of his outer clothes, now she attempted to help him with the shirt.  
He pulled sharply away from her.  
"NO!" He shouted. "NO!"  
"I'm not going to hurt you, or touch you, but you're soaked through, and you're shivering."  
"I'll do it!" Voice still raised, in fear was it? Or shame?   
He peeled the material up and away from his body, and Sams eyes widened in horror.  
Across his back were thin stripes, narrow, no more than half a centimetre wide.   
Some were livid red, others less so. In places there was a rash of purpura, where the blood vessels were broken near the skins surface.   
They had clearly been there some time, but untreated, and looked as if they continued down under his underwear, and the backs of his legs.   
"Malcolm. Oh my God! What happened?"   
He shook his head, vigorously.  
"Can't! Can't say."  
"Okay......that's okay Malcolm, but listen.......I have some salve, with aloe vera and arnica, it'll help to sooth. But only with your permission."   
His eyes were wet, but he looked at her, and nodded.  
She left him and fetched the ointment.   
Not one muscle did he move, while she was gone.   
Returning she sat down behind him, and very very gently began to smooth the cream across the marks. Rubbing it into the skin with her fingertips.   
Malcolm flinched, drew in his breath. Then closed his eyes.   
His whole torso was atremble, tense as a bowstring at her delicate touch.   
"There are more, further down. But I won't do anything unless you say it's okay......I can give you the stuff, you can apply it yourself if you'd rather."   
Numbly he shook his head, hanging it down, as tears spilled out from under his lashes.   
"You'd better lie flat then. On your tummy."   
Sam slowly pulled down the fabric of his pants, the wheals across his backside, and the tops of his thighs were, if anything, worse.  
She could hardly bear to touch him.  
"How long have you been like this?"  
"A while."   
"Jesus Christ Malcolm! This is horrific. Who did this to you?"  
"Another inmate. Top dog."   
"And you never told anyone?"  
He laughed manically.  
"Are you fucking kidding me?"   
She massaged the cream across his buttocks as he whimpered in pain.  
"Why you?" She asked softly.  
"Wanted to make me his bitch. I guess. I had other ideas."  
"So he did this to you?"   
"Well, he was trying to rape me, but I was stronger than I looked, so.....yeah, with a piece of flex. In the shower room."   
"Mother of God! And no one heard......or came to help?"   
"No one hears anything in there Sam, and no one interferes. Not even the staff."   
Finishing up she carefully replaced his underwear,   
"There. Done. Helped any?"  
"Much. Thank you Sam."  
She handed him the clean t shirt and he pulled it over his head. 

oOo

Sitting side by side, his hands wrapped around a hot cup of tea. Blowing into it, and sipping noisily. Sam considered him.  
Shit.   
He was a mess.   
And no wonder.   
And he had no one.   
Wrong.   
He had her, and she would take care of him, help get him through it.  
Somehow.  
Bugger it all.  
How could she expect him, to go for an interview, go to back to work and return to normality, with this hanging over his head?   
"You need help Malc. Counselling. You're traumatised. It won't go away, not just like that."  
"Therapy, you mean?.....some cunt probing back to my misspent childhood. Sitting me on a couch while I weep like a snot faced boy? No thanks."  
"This is big Malcolm, it could fuck you up for ever."  
He laughed again, but it was bitter.   
"I'm already fucked up. No change there. I'll cope. Always have."  
"Like you're coping now you mean?"   
"Stop it Sam. Just stop, yeah? I'll be alright. Just need a bit of time that's all. Nothing happened, he just whipped the shit out of me. That's all."  
"I don't call that nothing." Sam frowned.  
"Yeah, well, I stood up to him, he left me alone after that."  
"Great! But you were terrified to eat anything or go to sleep! Sounds like you totally had it under control."  
"Well, what's done is done, I've just got to get on with it. But I just need, I just need....."  
He stopped, unable to continue , his breath hitched.  
"I think you should stay here for the time being, I don't think you should move into the flat alone next month. I don't think you should be alone at all, come to that."  
He turned to look at her then, his eyes darting across her face, questioning.  
"Are you sure Sam? I'd like that. I would. If I wouldn't be a bother."  
"A bother? Silly idiot."  
His look bashful, he turned away.  
"Malcolm, come here to me."  
Sam held her arms out to him, and he leaned into her, she laid herself back on his bed, drawing him down beside her.  
Encircling him in her embrace, holding him fast.  
He let out a long sigh and nestled his head into her side. She let her finger tips gently massage his scalp.   
Stroking through his hair.   
She felt him snuggle closer, and murmur her name.   
Within minutes he was fast asleep.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Sam's revelation, Malcolm suffers a complete mental breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demonme.... Gave me this prompt......
> 
> "So, we know Malcolm has made a lot of enemies during his work (fired politicians, screwed journalists etc.), and one of them decides to get his own back and goes to his meeting or home or something and shoots him in avenge (and yeah I always crave caring Sam)"
> 
> I had this prompt and I've kinda worked parts of it into 'Release'. Malcolm had made lots of enemies, and their revenge was screwing him to the wall at Goolding, (in this AU story arc.) Sam is most definitely the carer here. It's true Malcolm hasn't been shot, with a gun, but he's certainly shot to hell......but for realism's sake, I went with the trauma he encountered whilst in prison instead.
> 
> This story is turning into an angst fest!!   
> Malcolm is not well. Initially he was relieved to be out.....but the walls are tumbling down!!

RELEASE (part 3)

It was still very early.   
Daybreak only just beginning to filter in through the living room curtains.  
Gradually the sky lightening, the stars fading and a yellow glow, spreading across the cream painted wall.   
Sam spiralled out of a warm and comfortable dream, the memory hazy, but still there.   
A feeling of peace and sweetness, of light and sunshine, melting away as she returned to the waking world.  
Lying, fully clothed, on top of the covers, on the sofa bed. Where she'd fallen asleep the evening before.  
Malcolm was entwined around her, like an octopus.  
His arms were right around her body, clinging tightly, his head pushed into her side, almost painfully.  
Left leg over the top of her own, right leg underneath, so her own were sandwiched between his.   
His breathing was slow and measured, he was deeply asleep.   
As she lay listening, feeling his chest rise and fall atop her own, he whimpered slightly, and stirred, pushing just a tiny bit closer, little noises, like a young whelp puppy, coming from him.  
Gently and carefully, and it has to be said, somewhat reluctantly, she extricated herself from his limpet embrace.  
Unperturbed he slumbered on.   
The clock in the kitchen said 5.10am.   
Bloody hell. It was Saturday!   
Her day clothes were crumpled and sweaty. While the kettle boiled, she showered and put on her sweat pants and a t shirt, clipped her hair up in a butterfly clasp, somehow she couldn't bring herself to be up and dressed in all her finery before six in the morning, at the weekend!   
A sound from the living room took her back to peer in.   
She met Malcolm's sleepy blue eyes gazing round the room as he came back to wakefulness.   
"Morning!"   
He looked bewildered.  
"What's the time?"   
"It's before 5.30......I'm making tea......want one?"   
He nodded, sitting up and rubbing his face and head.   
His hair looked as though he'd stuck his fingers in an electric socket.   
She turned and moved back along the hallway, as he slung his long legs out to the side, sat on the edge for a moment, as if collecting himself, then shuffled to the kitchen doorway.   
"I'm hungry." He announced, as if to the world in general.   
Running his hands over his prickly chin, as she took him in.......her eyes sweeping over him as he leaned there.  
He looked thin, gaunt even, there was nothing of him and she now knew the t shirt and underpants he wore hid a multitude of sins. He had muscular legs, like a cyclist, but not particularly hairy. Big feet, long bony toes, like his fingers.  
He reddened under her gaze.  
"What?" He challenged.  
"You! Malcolm." She exclaimed. "What are you like?"  
"Yeah! I know. No fucking oil painting.....sorry about that. But I never was."   
"On the contrary. You're very handsome, but perhaps not right now."  
Blushing further, he looked down at himself, then back at her, confused.   
She laughed, "Joke Malcolm! For Gods sake. Come and sit down, I'll make you something to eat. Since you appear ravenous at this ungodly hour."   
He obeyed without a word, as she began to open cupboards, find utensils. Switched on the hob, poured juice and handed it to him.  
He took it and sipped, silent still.  
Flour, eggs, milk, fruit........he watched, seemingly mesmerised as she made a stack of pancakes.  
Passing him the plate, she sat down beside him and tucked in.   
As before, he shovelled the food in, wolfing it down, eating as quickly as possible.  
"Malcolm......seriously.......why do you eat like that? You hardly chew......you just bolt it down."  
He shrugged.  
"Force of habit I guess."  
"Well slow down, for goodness sake, you make me bilious!"   
"Sorry."   
He looked shamefaced. Turning his plate round and round as he stared at it.  
"Do you want some more......? This isn't the Workhouse.....I'm not the Beadle......you can ask!"   
"Please! They're really good."  
He pushed his plate across for her to refill.  
"So you're a Legal Sec now then?"   
It was first time since arriving on her doorstep that he'd actually properly spoken to her, by way of starting a conversation.   
"Yep. Since I left your dubious employ. Got the job the week afterwards! Boss is a bit of a prick, but I can handle him."   
"So you left.......when?"   
"The day after the Inquiry ended. Packed my desk. Walked out. Sod them."  
Malcolm raised his eyebrows.   
"What did they say to that?"   
"Oh, a variety of things......misplaced loyalty, infatuation with you, blah blah blah."   
She passed him the coffee pot.   
"Got my job the following week......my friend Joyce put in a word......walked the interview apparently, they said if I could handle Malcolm Tucker I could handle anything!"   
"I'm glad you weren't out of work long because of me."   
"Malcolm, it wasn't your fault. None of it. Do you think I'd be sitting here stuffing you with pancakes and letting you sleep in my lounge, if I thought it was?"  
"I guess not. I'm still sorry for all of it though. You deserved better."  
"And so did you Malcolm. You were the scapegoat. No more, no less. Well, I hope they're bloody happy!"   
"Fuck." He sat back, hands around his cup. "What a fucking mess."   
"I came to visit you. On several occasions. They said you wouldn't see me. Why Malcolm? Why wouldn't you see me?"   
He hung his head, couldn't look at her.   
"Again......turns up at my door, eating my pancakes, sleeping in my house......why Malcolm?"   
"Dunno. Just couldn't. Didn't want you to see me in there. Couldn't deal with seeing you. Sorry."  
She closed her hand over his, as it lay stretched before him on the counter.   
"It doesn't matter now. I'm glad you came to me now. Truly."   
"I'm fucking sorry I had to. I don't even know how it happened. It wasn't a conscious thing, I just kinda started walking, found myself here."   
"I'm glad Malcolm. I'm glad because it means you trust me. It means we're friends. We are aren't we? Not just ex boss and ex PA.......not now.....eh?"   
"You're the only fucking friend I've got!"   
"I'm not so sure about that......I think you've got more allies than you think. But you were stitched up, and they had to hide. Now you're out, they'll come out of the woodwork.....you mark my words, it's not over till the fat lady sings."   
"I don't give a fuck Sam. I've had eight months of fucking hell. And I've lost everything except what I walked out of that shit hole wearing, and a few hundred in a bank account."  
"Well.....not quite."   
"What do you mean......not quite?"   
"You've forgotten haven't you?........part of me wondered if that's why you came to me, but it isn't is it? You've really genuinely forgotten."   
"Forgotten what for fucks sake?"   
"The Pissy Biscuit Fund."   
"WHAT?"   
Malcolm turned to face his ex employee, his face completely nonplussed, clueless.   
"The Pissy Biscuit Fund. I opened it ages ago, you asked me to......don't you remember? I'd been adding to it......appearance fees, photo rights, royalties, any spare little bits and bobs. It was in my name. But it's yours. I'd been meaning to change it........I mean it was only pounds at first......for a better class of biscuit......literally.......you said......but when it built up and built up, I got worried, I thought you'd wonder where it was all going, think I'd been creaming it off. Then when things started to get hairy, I got scared. I spoke to Glenn.....he told me to leave it where it was, because then it would be safe."  
Malcolm stared open mouthed, like a dumbstruck haddock. His mouth opened, then closed, opened.......then closed.   
"So just how much is in the fucking Pissy Biscuit Fund?"   
"Well......I mean, it wasn't all me. Glenn's been helping me, turns out he's quite the little wheeler dealer......got a friend......a trader......Bonds and Futures and stuff.   
Sooooo, he's been buying stuff, with the money, then selling it, and building up a little share portfolio with the profit........it's worth quite a bit now, I imagine. I mean.....it's not millions, but it's a few grand, and it's better than a smack in the eye with a wet kipper, as my dad used to say."   
"Un. Be. Fucking. Lievable. Unbelievable. My fucking PA......squirrelling away my money, for a rainy day......effectively hiding it from the bailiffs, and the rest of the vultures, and I didn't even know about it myself. You realise if they'd found out, you risked prosecution? I mean, the only reason I wasn't declared bankrupt was the few hundred quid of my mother's, that they couldn't touch, after the house and all my stuff was sold to pay Greg Fraser and the Legal Team.........and all the time Samantha Cassidy is sitting on the sodding Pissy Biscuit Fund. Fuck me! Fucking fuck me! I could actually kiss you. You are just.......I'm fucking speechless......"  
Sam's beaming face seemed to shine, at that moment. 

But for Malcolm it all began to cave in. 

It was more than he could take in.   
He began to feel odd, light headed, dizzy.   
He could hardly bear to look at her, his mind whirring, he'd thought about her a lot, while he was locked away. Too much probably.   
He knew she'd been to visit him. But he was ashamed. He didn't want her to see him in there, it was humiliating, degrading, an embarrassment.   
How the mighty are fallen.   
She was such a sweet girl. Visiting a jailbird was so beneath her. She was so much better than that. Deserved better. Far too good for the likes of him.  
Besides, any thoughts that he might ever have entertained about the two of them, however fleeting, dissipated the moment he was sentenced.   
He liked her......far too much to subject her to that. Much better that she moved on with her life. Started anew. Forgot about her time working as the 'great' Malcolm Tucker's PA, forged new ties. Made a new beginning.  
His brain was working feverishly now.  
Yet here she was, sitting beside him, having offered him comfort, succour. Fed him, held him, taken care of him, without question.......without hesitation. Now she was telling him she'd had his back financially too, albeit on a small scale......just in case. For the two years he'd been in Opposition.....from the time he'd been sacked before that, in fact......somehow, she'd seen it coming, and made a contingency plan.....for his benefit. All this time. But that would mean she......?   
No. He couldn't think of it.   
All those years....? Never saying a word. Had he been so fucking blind? He always insisted on remaining professional in the workplace. Something he was a stickler for. But.....surely, if there'd been something there.....he would have spotted it?   
She was looking at him now, right into his eyes, so much written there in her face.  
Kindness, affection.....so much.  
Malcolm felt ill. The depth of his emotion was overwhelming.   
She cared for him. It had to be true.   
No.  
He couldn't take it in. Couldn't go there. He'd got it all wrong.   
Stupid. Stupid fucker.   
She was speaking.....how long had she been speaking? While his thoughts wandered. He'd tuned out completely.  
Her hand was on his arm. Her voice concerned, coming as if from a great distance.  
"Malcolm, talk to me. Are you okay? Malcolm! Look at me. Focus."   
He was out of it. Sam could see. Detached. Unresponsive. Catatonic.   
Sliding from the kitchen seat, stumbling to the bathroom, swerving like a startled rabbit in the headlights, crashing into the walls and the door jamb.   
Inside. Door locked. He slid down the tiles, unceremoniously, sat on the floor in a heap.  
He could hear her outside, trying to force the door, the handle rattling.   
Body in shut down. Unable to think straight. To function.   
Nerves jangling.   
The noise of her fist on the door, so loud, hurting his ears, searing his brain.  
He lay down, on the cold ceramics. Curled his legs, hands over his head.  
Make it stop, the banging.   
He needed quiet. Peace. Tranquility. He needed.......he needed someone to help him.  
Then, silence. The sounds ceased abruptly and a hush enveloped him.  
He was being lifted, bodily.   
Moved and turned, her arms encircling him, holding him tight.  
Soft words, soothing, gentle, he was being caressed, a touch so tender, that the feelings began to pour out of him.  
Sam was sitting on the bathroom floor, back against the side of the bath.   
Cradling him, rocking him, and out it all came.   
Floodgates opening. Crying hysterically. Sobbing, until his chest heaved, shoulders shaking, his temples throbbing with the effort.   
No holding it back, once it began. A sweeping tsunami, breaking through and out of his body, the more he cried, the tighter she clung on to him.   
Speaking the whole time, softly.  
"It's okay Malcolm. Let it out. Let it all come out. Let it go."  
Mouth open and creased, wet with saliva, nose running, bubbles of mucous coming from it, eyes screwed tight, red rimmed and swollen, and still he wept, still there was more to come.  
He tried to speak, between bursts of tears. The words a jumble.  
"Didn't do it Sam.....nothing. That fucking place. Bastards....all bastards, fucking marked man. The whole frigging time. Took my stuff, my food, gotta eat quick....else you get nothing. Daren't sleep, fucking jump you....bag over my head.....fuck FUCK!.......CANT BREATHE.....SAM......SAM FOR CHRIST'S SAKE....GONNA FUCKING SUFFOCATE ME......"  
"I'm here Malcolm.......I've got you.......you're safe........I'll not let you go......it's alright."  
She held the trembling mess, as he rambled on.  
"Shit.....shit.......cant go to the bog......anywhere where you're alone, that's when they do it, no one around......fuck FUCKKK!! No one hears.....scared to go for a piss or shit, scared to shave. DON'T TOUCH ME.........GET THE FUCK OFF ME."  
He fought against her arms then, as she held him, eyes wide with fear, feet scrabbling against the floor, as he tried to turn himself around, his hands over his genitals, pushing himself back towards the wall, preventing the imaginary assailant from touching him.   
But she didn't let go, didn't stop with her quiet voice,   
"Malcolm, no one is going to hurt you here. Nothing can hurt you now. You're safe. I'm here. Okay, I'm here for you."  
"You're here Sam? Sam's here.....Sam can do it, she's good.....lovely Sam......my Sam.   
WHERE ARE YOU? ......I NEED YOU.....SAM! SAM!"   
"Right here Malcolm. I'm right here. Not going anywhere."

Gradually, after half an hour or more, he began to calm. To the point where he was laying on the floor, across her lap, as his sobs slowly subsided.  
She helped him up, guiding him back to his bed.   
Sitting him down. As she made to rise and fetch him a drink, he grabbed her arm, holding her firmly......pulling her back....  
"Not going.......don't leave.......please, please Sam......"  
"Sit still, Malcolm, I'll make us a drink. I'll only be a few moments."  
His face was a mess, runny nose, eyes almost closed from crying, shaking all over.  
Sam returned, with a flannel, she sat down next to him and turned him to face her.   
"Let's clean your face, my dear man." She whispered, her voice beginning to crack.  
"Stay still, while I do this. Your poor eyes......so sore." The coolness of the material made him lean into her hand as she wiped it over his forehead and nose.   
"Sam." He murmured, almost inaudibly.   
"Thank you Sam. Thank you. Thank you."   
"Shhhh!" She held his face in her hands, her thumbs across the damp cheeks.  
"Nothing you could ever have done warrants what was done to you in that place Malcolm. Nothing. But you'll be alright. You are strong. Stronger than you'll ever know. And I'm here, and I'll always be here. Whatever you need......okay? Okay, Malcolm?"  
"Okay, Sam."   
Hot tea, held in trembling hands, his body still betraying a sob every now and then, but slowly recovering, returning to some semblance of normality.   
"Sam?" His eyes were unusually wide, pupils dilated, wired, darting wildly from her face, to her hands and back again.  
"What is it Malcolm?"  
"Need to sleep Sam. So tired."  
Taking his cup she set it to one side, and lifted his legs, swinging them round and into the bed.  
"Rest then. Lay back and rest."   
"You'll not leave? You'll stay?"  
"Of course. I'll stay until you're fast asleep. Okay."   
He nodded, numb and wrung out as he was.   
He cuddled himself into her, rubbing his head against her side, sniffing slightly and still hitching from time to time.   
Within moments he was sleeping.   
Sleeping without fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure where all this is coming from!!   
> I will continue to write the other Malcolm with the wife and kids.....but this Malcolm is a challenge.   
> I have a limited experience of Mental Illness, so I hope the reader doesn't think I enter into it lightly.   
> Malcolm is traumatised, but he can recover.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam rings Glenn Cullen for help.......Malcolm's symptoms seem to be worse.

CHAPTER FOUR.

It was lunchtime before he woke again.  
Sam had not been idle.  
While he slept she busied herself, peeping in on him from time to time as the morning progressed.  
He slept the sleep of the dead. Barely moving.   
Hardly making a sound, apart from the odd little mewling noises from time to time, if he stirred.   
Always in the foetal position.   
Mid morning Sam phoned Glenn Cullen. Speaking quietly from her bedroom.  
"Glenn? It's Sam."   
"Is he out?"  
"Yes, the day before yesterday. He's here with me."  
"Is he alright?"   
"No. Glenn, he's not alright. He's a mess. He's ill."  
"Oh God!"  
"Listen Glenn.....I need your help."  
"Sam....anything....you know that. Just ask."   
"I can't leave him Glenn. Not even for a little while. I need shopping, and I need to sort something out with my work. I don't know what to do. I can't go back, I've taken a few days off, but it's going to take a while, and I'll lose my job.....do you know anyone good, that could cover for me? As a temp?"   
"Leave it with me Sam. I'll find someone. Take all the time you need, and look, if they sack you, you'll still be okay, you can come and work for me!! Just text your shopping list. I'll drop by later."   
"Thanks. There's something else.....we might be needing the Pissy Biscuit Fund!"   
"That's not a problem, it's all there when he needs it. You alright Sam?"  
The line went quiet......  
"Sam? Talk to me."   
"Oh Glenn......." Her voice broke into a sob she could not keep in. "He's so.......broken, Glenn, what they did to him in there.......I.........Glenn, I.........I'm........"  
"You love him Sam. You always have. More now than ever.........yeah?"  
"Yeah."   
"Don't cry, Sam, don't let him see you like that, it'll upset him.....he was always most careful not to upset you, he hated seeing you that way, I know he did."   
"Okay, I'll try."   
"Good girl. I'll be there later okay?"  
"I gotta go Glenn, I think I heard him call out."   
Clicking off her mobile she hurried to the living room.  
"Sam?" His voice was thick and heavy, almost slurred.  
"I'm here. Hey! You okay?"   
He sat up, holding out a hand to her.   
She took it and sat down next to him.   
Barely able to open his eyes, so gummed up were they with sleep and crying.   
"Oh, Malcolm! You REALLY need a shower. You stink of B.O! And you look like a hobo."  
He blinked like a confused owl, and rubbed his face.   
"Up you get. Come on. In the bathroom with you, leave the door ajar, don't lock it, in case you need me.....okay? I had to force it with a screwdriver this morning."  
"Okay, Sam." He shuffled off obediently.   
"I'll make us some lunch, so don't take all day." She called. 

She listened for the run of water, then crept to the door, and peered in.   
He wasn't washing, he was standing, stock still, under the shower head.   
His back to her, leaning his hands against the wall. The stripes across his back, less livid since she'd applied the cream, but nevertheless still very much there.  
Waiting patiently for a few moments, she then tried.....  
"Malcolm?"   
"Yeah?"   
"Call me when you've washed.....I'll put more stuff on your back, okay? Don't use all the hot water!"   
"Okay."   
He shook himself out of his trance and began soaping himself vigorously.   
Satisfied, Sam returned to the kitchen.   
Presently she heard him call.   
She knocked on the bathroom door,  
"You decent?"   
"Yeah."   
A towel wrapped round his lower half, he was trying to shave, but his hand was shaking so much it was a struggle.   
"Here." She smiled, holding out her hand for the razor. "Let me."   
He put the seat of the toilet down and sat on it, looking up at her, his face half lather, half skin. Red and blotchy. He'd nicked himself, and was bleeding slightly.   
"You know, I used to shave my Dad, every day, when he was in the Hospice, " she told him quietly, " he used to say, it was the smoothest shave he'd ever had. Mind you, I wasn't using a bic razor.   
Chin up! That's it. You're done. No after-shave I'm afraid, I've got some cologne somewhere.....not poncy stuff, nice.......want some?"   
"Okay." He looked at her, shyly, so bashful, almost sweet.   
"Wait there, while I fetch it."   
He didn't move.....it was one of the things she'd noticed, over the last couple of days, to her horror. He did whatever she told him, without question, to the letter........'Eat'.....he ate. 'Drink'......he obeyed. 'Stay there'......he wouldn't move......it was scary.   
She poured a little cologne into her palm, rubbed her two hands together, then patted his face, trying to avoid the tiny cut.   
He hissed a breath at the sting.   
"There. Shame you nicked yourself, never mind, it'll soon heal. Would you like to stand?   
I'll put some of this cream on those welts."   
He stood immediately.   
The other thing she really noticed, was how his eyes followed her every movement, never leaving her face, whenever possible, looking at her searchingly, almost desperately.   
Sometimes the expression she caught on his face, floored her.....craving, looking for any sign of affection, or disapproval, or anger, hoping to anticipate, to read, and therefore react, so as not to incur any negative emotion.  
Turning his back towards her, she began to apply the salve again.   
"They look better than yesterday, Malcolm. Does it help any?"   
He nodded, trying to crane his head round, first one way then the other, to gauge her face, but unable to, it made him shudder involuntarily, knowing she was close behind him, but being unable to see her properly.   
His breathing became increasingly erratic.  
Sam rested her hands on his shoulders, either side of his neck.  
"Malcolm. Deep breaths, come on, you're getting anxious, I can feel it."  
Massaging his shoulders with her finger tips, trying to calm and soothe him,   
"Okay. It's fine. You're fine. You're obviously not comfortable in here, we'll go in the living room.....would you prefer that?"  
He nodded, lip trembling.   
Turning him round gently, she guided him out of the bathroom, and saw him relax visibly.   
"Better?"   
More vigorous nodding.  
"Have I your permission to do the rest? You can do it yourself if you prefer."   
"You do it." He whispered.  
"Okay. Lay down then, and slip that towel down."  
He meekly did as he was told, and she smothered the ointment across his backside, and the backs of his thighs.   
When she finished he sat himself up again, as she replaced the screw lid.   
"Thank you Sam."  
"You're welcome. Do you want to get dressed? Lunch is ready in the kitchen. Where are your dirty clothes? I'll put them in the machine."  
His face fell, and he looked away, sharply.   
"Malcolm?"  
Sheepishly he lifted the pillow on his makeshift bed, underneath, carefully rolled into a ball, were his used clothes.   
"When my clothes are dirty, I put them in the laundry basket, let me show you...."  
She took his hand and showed him the utility room where the basket stood.   
"Is that okay? You put anything you've worn in there, with my things, and I'll wash them for you. You don't need to hide them."  
"Okay Sam."   
"Let's find you something clean to wear, then we'll eat." He followed her back into the living room and stood waiting patiently as she handed him fresh clothes.   
"You can get dressed in my bedroom.......there's a mirror in there. Comb your hair as well. I'll see you in a minute."   
She watched him go, her heart aching.   
Good god. He was like a fucking automaton. (And Sam rarely swore, even in thought). Almost incapable of acting independently.  
How could he get like this? Institutionalised.  
Eight months of torture, that's how. Conditioning.   
Do as you're told and you're left alone.   
Jesus Christ.   
He was worse now than when he'd arrived.   
Like he'd built himself up for being released, and then it was all too much.   
She was so bloody mad. She wanted to beat the crap out of something, someone, anyone.   
No.   
Waste of time.   
She'd get him back.   
Her Malcolm, he was in there somewhere, she just had to find him.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short walk to the park turns out to be disastrous ........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So a bit of explanation here.  
> I have watched TTOI SO MANY TIMES.......it's probably unhealthy!!!!!!  
> There has always been, for me (and I've mentioned it in my writing/notes before) a stark contrast in the dynamism of Malcolm's character between series three and series four.  
> The first three series Malcolm is hyper.....almost manic, long days, short nights, a driven workaholic.....he may well have needed 'help' to keep up that level of intensity.  
> The end of series three, after his sacking, was when Malcolm was really finished. Not after the Goolding Inquiry.  
> When series four returned, after a couple of years hiatus, Malcolm was a changed man. No real power, no love for the job, vindictive and malicious. A light had gone out.  
> Peter played him almost as if he was detached, out of it, didn't care any more, engaged in damage limitation.
> 
> Now there could be many reasons for that.
> 
> And this is one I'm exploring in this final chapter. I'd already written it before the real reason for his symptoms occurred to me.  
> Two years in opposition, surrounded by incompetence, watching everything he'd worked for slowly going to hell on a tricycle! That would make a man like Malcolm profoundly depressed......

CHAPTER FIVE.

When Glenn called in that afternoon, Malcolm was sleeping again.  
Sam opened the front door and launched herself at him, into a crushing hug.  
"I bloody wish you'd always greeted me like that!" He smiled.  
"How is he?"  
"Honest opinion, or me kidding myself?"  
"Both."  
"I think he's ill. Glenn. And he probably needs psychiatric treatment. But even if he'd agree to see a Doctor, if he was to be hospitalised, it would be like going from one captivity into another, and I think it would finish him. Kidding myself, it's a reactionary thing and after a few days rest and proper food and TLC, he'll be absolutely fine."  
"Hmmmm! What's he doing now?"  
"He's asleep. He's slept a good deal of the time since he's been here. He's completely exhausted. I don't think he's had a complete nights sleep the whole time he's been in that place."  
"Could just be sleep deprivation then, that'd be enough to send you doolally."  
"He's petrified Glenn. Afraid of his own shadow. It's actually got worse since he got here. Like he's held it all in and now he can't do it any more. Scoffs his food like someone's going to steal it off his plate, doesn't like being in the bathroom by himself, not really. Manages, but only just. Hardly speaks.....three or four words at a time, max. He's covered in marks, where he's been attacked by some bloke in the shower, who tried to rape him. And God only knows what else that he can't or won't tell me, as yet. He loses himself. Switches off. Blocks it. Then panics when he comes back."  
"Good God Sam."  
"Come in the kitchen, I'll make some tea. Thanks for bringing the shopping. Frankly Glenn, I'm scared to leave him alone. I don't think he should be alone. I'm not saying he'd try to top himself, but he gets so anxious and then he starts to lose it. I can calm him, because he trusts me, but if I wasn't there.......well.....I dread to think....."  
"I'll keep you supplied, never fear, just text me a list each time okay? Oh, and I think I've found a temp."  
"Oh, you are a star! I took next week off......but I didn't ask for further than that."  
"Are you going to be alright for money?"  
"I guess."  
"Sam? This is me.....Glenn. Do you or will you need money?"  
"Maybe......I'm okay for a bit, but if I don't go back to work.....I mean I could ask to be signed off sick.....I'd have good grounds, but.....well, it wouldn't be right. I may have to resign."  
"You would do it too. Wouldn't you? For him?"  
"Yes. I would. Without a moments hesitation. I don't care about anything else. These last eight months, and before, with the trial and everything, I think I've just be lying to myself really. I can't help it, Glenn. When I opened my door on Thursday and saw him standing there, well, I can't tell you what went through my head really. The fact he came to me, it must mean something......mustn't it? "  
"Of course! Where else would he go?"  
"He didn't seem too bad at first. Just really tired, but then yesterday and this morning.....it's just been hell. So bad that I was really worried that I couldn't cope. But I can. If you don't mind helping, I will. He HAS to get better, be the old Malc again.  
He will, I know he will.  
It's just......I just.......God.....I just love him so much, it hurts, it's a physical pain.  
Tell me I'm bloody stupid!"  
"Sam. Come here my darling girl." Glenn hugged her. "He'll be well. I'm sure of it. You'll bring him back, if anyone can." 

After her friend left. Sam sat herself down, on the edge of the sofa bed.  
She reached out her hand and touched Malcolm's head as he slept.  
Stroking his hair gently, presently his eyes opened.  
"Hey you!" She smiled.  
"Sam."  
"Feel okay?"  
"Yeah. Thirsty."  
"I'll get you a drink, what would you like?"  
"Can I have juice.......please?"  
"Sure."  
When she returned he was sitting up, he looked a little more alert.  
She handed over the glass.  
"How about we go for a walk tomorrow, just down to the little park and back? So you're not cooped up here all the time?"  
"Okay. Can we do that?"  
"We can do what we like Malcolm. You don't have to do what you're told any more, okay? Would you LIKE to go out for a walk tomorrow?"  
"Yeah. If you come."  
"We'll go together." 

oOo

They left the house, just after lunch the following day.  
The rain had blown away and the sun was shining.  
The park was not far from Sam's place, small but plenty of trees, a small coffee stall and a mobile ice cream van.  
Sitting on a bench, his fingers sought her arm for reassurance.  
She patted his hand. Smiled at him.  
"Okay?"  
"Mmm. Hmm."  
He was looking up and around, blinking in the light, taking in the leaves, the sparrows, the children playing frisbee, the squirrels, everything as if he'd never noticed them before, or had taken them for granted and was now really seeing them for the first time.  
"Shall I get us an ice cream?"  
"With a flake?"  
Sam laughed.....  
"You want a 99?"  
He nodded, and gave a small smile, just a hint.  
"You sit and enjoy the sunshine, I'll go to the van and get you one."  
Leaving him there she walked away, across the grass, the van was some way away, and out of sight. When she reached it, there was a queue. Sam waited patiently.  
It was some fifteen minutes or more before she headed back, to where she'd left Malcolm sitting.  
He was gone.  
Sam's heart lurched. A fear thrill ran right through her.  
Abandoning the ice creams, she broke into a run, reaching the spot where he'd last been. Looking around wildly.  
Shit!  
Where was he?  
Panicking now, she hurried along the path, checked the coffee stall, the other benches....no sign of him.  
Had he tired of waiting and started home?  
Christ on a bendy bus! Why the hell had she left him?  
He had no phone. No money. No key to her place.  
Most certainly not in the park, she set off towards her home.  
Please, please be there Malcolm.....she ran as fast as she could.  
In sight of her front door, she spied him.  
Sitting huddled on the doorstep, he was in a terrible state.  
Shaking, tear stained.  
"Malcolm! There you are! What happened?"  
"You left me. I thought you'd gone. Not coming back. Ages. You were gone ages."  
"I went to get ice cream. Did you forget?"  
"Sam. Don't leave me okay? I don't like it when you're not there. Everything gets fucked up."  
"Come on. Let's get you inside. Oh Malcolm. What am I to do with you? I was gone for fifteen minutes."  
"Fifteen minutes?"  
"Yes. That was all."  
"I watched you go, then I watched the kids playing, then it seemed like a long time had passed, like hours. I lost track."  
"You mean you zoned out."  
"I guess." He began to babble, "Then I looked, and I couldn't see you, the kids were gone, and I'd been sitting there all that time, and I thought you'd just decided to leave me sitting there. So I tried to remember the way back, and I did.....so I came, and I couldn't get in, and I knocked. I thought you were in there and didn't want me to come in, so I sat down and waited."  
They were inside by now, and Sam was trying her best to calm his agitated state.  
Sitting him down, getting him to breathe and count.  
Fifteen minutes.  
Fifteen minutes out of her sight and he'd switched off, lost track of time, then had a major panic attack.  
"I didn't know where you'd gone. Or if you were coming back . Then I thought you weren't coming back. Not ever, and I got scared. I'm sorry Sam."  
"Malcolm, don't be sorry. Please. I'm not angry with you. You scared the shit out of me that's all. I wondered where the hell you'd gone!! It's my fault, I shouldn't have left you sitting there, we should have gone together."  
"You went to get ice cream. A 99 you said. Where is it?"  
"Oh fuck the bloody ice cream! Malcolm. Just let me give you a hug, you dope!"  
She put her arms around his neck, and something snapped, she began to cry. Suddenly, without warning, before she could stop herself.  
"Sam? Sam? I've upset you. Please forgive me, I didn't mean it Sam. I just switch off, I started doing it in prison. To make it all go away. Now I can't stop and it's getting worse. I'm sorry Sam. I'm so so sorry. "  
"It's okay, Malcolm, I'm not cross.....or upset, not really. You just really scared me, that's all, you've got no money, no phone, and I was just so worried. I'm just being silly, and it isn't your fault. You're not well. And you didn't do it on purpose. But you'll be okay, and so will I......we'll muddle through......won't we? You and me.....together."  
"It's okay when you're there. I'm okay. But then you go, and everything goes tits up. I thought you'd had enough, decided to ditch me. I'm so sorry, Sam. Maybe I should see someone. Maybe I should be in hospital, you said I'm not well, I keep losing time, Sam.....I start to think, then when I come back, an hour has passed, and I don't remember."  
"Malcolm, if you want to see someone, that's fine. I'll go with you to see someone. But as for being in hospital.....I think that would be a really bad idea. I think that being in hospital would feel like being in prison, and I don't think it would help you at all."  
"If I see someone, they'll give me tablets. I don't want to take tablets. I used to take tablets all the time......"  
"Sometimes, medication can help, Malc, but as a temporary thing, not a permanent crutch to lean on. What I do think might help you, is to see someone who you can talk to, about what's happened to you. Someone who can help you deal with it. Show you the best way. I'm not qualified to do any of that Malcolm, but a therapist is. That might be of more help to you."  
"Can't I just tell you? I don't like all that analysis shit. And I've taken too many tablets, when I worked at Number Ten. Sleeping tablets, to come down after a manic day. Uppers to get me going at four o clock in the morning......"  
"I knew you took them, Malcolm. I knew. Why do you think I bought you blankets and food and stuff, and kept the cupboard in the pantry full? So you'd sleep in the office if you had to, but you wouldn't need to take anything. I knew where you hid your stash. I used to take them, and hide them."  
"You did?"  
"Yes. Because you have an addictive personality Malcolm.....it's all or nothing with you.  
It's like an alcoholic who can't have two glasses of wine then cork the bottle, they have to finish it. You were like that with work. You'd just work and work, until you'd snap. Until you couldn't take any more. Then you'd go home, and I couldn't be sure what you did, I'd spend the whole weekend worrying, until Monday morning came, and I'd be able to gauge how you were. I'd know whether you'd taken anything or not.  
It scared the shit out of me. So destructive.  
When we were in Opposition, after you were sacked, after we lost the Election, I didn't think you really cared anymore. A light went out. You were different. What were you taking then?"  
"Prozac."  
"For FUCKS SAKE Malcolm? Prescribed?"  
"Yeah."  
"Jesus Christ!!! How long?"  
"The whole time, until last week."  
"WHAT??? WHAT!!! ..........and then you just stopped them?"  
"Yeah. I flushed them......finished......no more."  
Sam stood up. Agitated, excited. Pacing up and down.  
Malcolm watched her, confused, a look of bewilderment, face puzzled and strained.  
"HOLY CRAP MALCOLM! All that time, and you just stopped them......just like that?"  
"Yeah."  
"But don't you see? You idiot. This is why you're ill. You have Discontinuation Syndrome.........google it for crying out loud!! You're meant to wean yourself off, drop the dosage, gradually......not just cut your own right arm off. OH MY GOD! You could have fried your own brain, doing that, you could have been suicidal, self harmed, anything. That, combined with the trauma you've been through.......it's a wonder you're still actually sitting here in front of me.....looking like you've been hit over the head with a cricket bat.  
You actually ARE AN IDIOT!"  
He offered no remark, but his face wore the injured look of a dog that been caught with its head in the kibble sack......and been whipped for his misdemeanours.  
"I'm sorry." He shrugged his shoulders, standing, holding his hands outstretched, head bowed in supplication.  
"So sorry. Sam. Truly."  
Sam wiped her damp face, sniffed.....looked at him standing in front of her.  
"Oh come here....you bloody fool. Just come here."  
Drawing him close to her, she held his face, their noses inches apart, she looking up, him looking down. Each searching the other's eyes, as if looking for meaning in all this madness.  
"It's all a fucking mess Sam. I'm a fucking mess. Why do you even......?"  
She placed a finger over his lips.  
"Hush. You know why. You don't even have to ask why. Do you? Do you Malcolm?"  
"I know what I THINK......what I hope.......but that can't be got by wishing......I don't KNOW anything anymore. I did once, but not anymore."  
"Then know this........I love you Malcolm. Always have. Now more than ever."  
Pupils blown, so close to tears his eyes swam with them, he leaned down an inch further.  
When his lips touched her own, a bolt of thrill ran right through her, starting in her chest, and moving down to the pit of her stomach.  
He drew her in, closer, and she felt herself sinking into his body. Legs weak, light headed, scared......she was scared.  
Frightened of his intensity, of the nuclear force of his passion, it was an onslaught to the senses, and it left them both reeling.  
His mouth was warm, she could feel his tongue, teasing, begging, then penetrating.  
The kiss strengthening and turning feral.  
In another second he was tilting her backwards, almost off balance, his hands moving across her back, gripping her clothes in his fists, tugging at them, moaning.  
Suddenly hotly aroused, carried away in the moment.  
"NO! Malcolm.......no! Stop. Please, stop."  
Pulling back, tearing herself away, breaking the contact......he tried to follow her, leaning ever further forward as she leaned back, he was losing control, coming unraveled.  
Too overpowering, too forceful.  
"Malcolm! DON'T!" She cried sharply.  
The spell broken, he released her, staring down at her, eyes blazing fire, lips swollen and pink, cheeks flushed, breathing ragged and fast.  
He seemed confused, puzzled by her rebuttal.  
"Malcolm, not like this. Not now."  
"But you just told me you......"  
"Malcolm, I know, and I've waited an awfully long time to say it. But it is not the moment for.......for......this. It isn't. It's not fair on me, and it's certainly not fair on you.  
You're not yourself at the moment, you're suffering from acute withdrawal symptoms, your body is detoxing from a drug and that's profoundly altered your personality, over a sustained period. You've just been through a massive life trauma.  
I'm here to give you support, to be there for you.....always.  
I love you.  
There's plenty of time for all the rest. When it's really you. When you know what you feel and how you feel. Right now you just feel lust. And feeling horny is another side effect of the Prozac discontinuation.  
Think about it.  
There's no way, you would have acted like that, with me, before. You were losing it Malcolm. Coming on way to strong.  
It's not you."  
His hands fell from her, horror and realisation on his face. He backed away, shaking his head, almost in disbelief.  
"Sam. I'm sorry. How can you ever forgive me? To disrespect you. YOU. Of all people.  
The person I respect more than any other. GOD! What's wrong with me? Where's my self control. I'm like a fucking animal."  
He sat on the bed, heavily. She sat down next to him, taking his hands.  
"Malcolm. Look at me." He raised his downcast eyes.  
"I'm not angry with you. Okay? Stop punishing yourself, beating yourself up. It's not you. Not the real you. I know that. You got carried away. But you stopped. And it's fine.  
Malcolm. I love you. And we have all the time in the world."  
"Sam." His voice barely a whisper. "I love you too. So fucking much, yeah? So fucking much."  
He leaned in to her and she encircled his shoulder with one arm, still holding his other hand.  
"You'll be fine, now......here's where it begins. New......new life, new start. New everything. You and me. This is the beginning. For both of us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that this particular story has reached a natural conclusion, at least for me. The circle has completed itself.  
> I could easily write more, but it would gradually become a repetition of Malcolm and Sam's relationship in my other AU stories, and I want to avoid that at all costs.  
> There is a possiblity of delving more into Malcolm's PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) but I'm not sure that it is really necessary.  
> Sometimes it is nice for the reader themselves to imagine what happens after the story ends......I've been doing that with TTOI since 2012!!!
> 
> I posted an epilogue in the end, I succumbed to my own weakness.....please read on!!.........


	6. Epilogue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short piece telling 'what happened next'........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So......this bloody story, refuses to leave me alone!!!  
> This morning I've written this little Epilogue.  
> And this really IS THE END.  
> I swear it!!  
> I just thought I needed to dot the 'I 's' and cross the 'T's'.......so I have!!  
> Hope you feel the story is more complete for the addition!

EPILOGUE.

The light in Provence was an artist's delight. Colour and texture, light and shade.  
Malcolm was no artist but he appreciated the sentiment.  
Providing there was cool shade to sit in, he was happy.  
There was a laziness about the days here.  
A serenity.  
He and Sam had taken a house for two months.  
Paid for by the Pissy Biscuit Fund.  
Malcolm was also being paid to write an investigative piece on the political fallout following The Goolding Inquiry.  
It had become a mission.  
A focus. A veritable life-line. 

Rising very early, as he always had, he found it to be the best part of the day.  
Cooler, before the Sun's intensity reached it's zenith.  
While Sam slept in, he would wander down to the little harbour of Cassis,  
Watch the fishing boats come in.  
Buy fresh fish directly from the boats, mingle with the locals.  
They called him Monsieur L' Ecosse. 

It had been a tough year.  
A year of ups and downs.  
There had never been any doubt in Malcolm's mind, that he would be okay, eventually.  
His physical scars healed, the mental ones took a little longer.  
It hadn't been easy.  
His eureka moment had been to agree to counselling.  
Overcoming his scepticism, his sense of being somehow seen to be weak or inadequate by going was part of the battle.  
Sam knew it was pointless needling him about it. The decision had to be his own.  
Things came to a head, when he experienced a complete meltdown at Westfield Shopping Centre.  
He'd simply gone to use the gents.  
It was echoey and tiled inside. Spacious and clinical, a bit like the prison washroom had been. Other members of the public came and went. One of them a large dark haired man, who suddenly looked horribly like Malcolm's inmate assailant.  
Sam hung around outside, as the minutes passed.  
He did not emerge.  
After ten minutes, she was concerned, after twenty, she was frantic.  
Eventually, she bit the bullet....and plunged inside.  
The male occupants at first stared at her, then one said  
"Oi, love......this is the men's.....you're next door!"  
She ignored him, and traversed the cubicles.  
"Malcolm? Malcolm?"  
Then she could hear weeping, the third cubicle door was firmly locked.  
"Malcolm, it's me......open the door......."  
The man who'd spoken to her, came up behind.....  
"What's up?"  
"My friend is in there, I think he's unwell.....will you help me? Please?"  
To his credit the guy, weighed her up, decided she was genuine, made a decision and gave the door a hefty kick.  
Malcolm was sitting on the floor inside, hugging his knees.  
Rocking, crying, a wreck. 

That was the day. 

The day she persuaded him, that he needed help.  
Help that she couldn't give.  
She accompanied him......at first he flatly refused to go into the consulting room alone, so she went in with him, held his hand.  
He was more afraid of facing the fear, than of the fear itself.  
Admitting he felt better when he came out was a relief....particularly to Sam.  
Two sessions a week for six months.  
He turned a corner.  
It didn't go away totally, probably never would.  
But he learned to recognise the signs, and learned to deal with the symptoms, the triggers, and begin to come to terms with what happened.  
The broken nights he constantly suffered, once his withdrawal symptoms from the Prozac passed, eased considerably as a result.  
The emotions and anxieties which, at times, overwhelmed him, grew easier to cope with or he learned to manage them.  
In short, the healing process began.  
This, also, was in no small measure, down to Sam.  
Unfailingly gentle, and patient. Always kind, even when at times, he knew she must be at the end of her tether.....exasperated. She never showed it.  
He owed her so much.  
He loved her fiercely.  
With a passion that he found difficult to suppress.  
Malcolm Tucker had never been on the receiving end of such profound attachment, such devotion, such pure uncomplicated love.  
It was humbling.  
She very quickly became his world.  
Nothing else really mattered. As long as he was with her, everything was going to be okay.  
The man who never trusted anyone, placed his trust in her.  
As for Sam herself, seeing a man who had previously been so dynamic and strong, bought so low, affected her profoundly.  
His very vulnerability fuelled her love for him, the more he clung to her in his desperation, the stronger her feelings for him became.  
As he began to improve and recover a semblance of his old self, she could observe it in him, every day. Little steps forward, regaining the man she'd fallen for in the first place.  
Long ago.  
Sexually, she held him at bay, at first.  
Which had been tough, very tough indeed.  
But she knew it was the right thing to do.  
Being intimate would complicate the relationship beyond his coping mechanism, particularly as he fought to leave the effects of the antidepressants behind him.  
He was incapable of separating lust from love at that time, and Sam knew that it would, ultimately prove destructive.  
She wanted their partnership to grow, for the right reasons, and that meant waiting.  
If Malcolm loved her, he would do just that.  
Although his brain told him that she was right, other parts of his anatomy were not so quick on the uptake.  
Frustration and impatience were part of the old Malcolm at his worst, so both emotions were heightened now, painfully so. But if he had to spend a little longer in the bathroom some days, well......he would survive!  
It was no different for Sam, in a way.  
She wanted him......desperately. But she knew the timing was wrong, and she needed it to be an experience to cherish forever, not a means to an end. 

The day it did finally happen, had been spent, very much together, right from the moment of waking.  
Something changed that day, which told Sam, he was on the mend.  
That the time was right.  
She'd woken to hear movement in her kitchen.  
Rising, she discovered that he was, not only up, showered and dressed, but had tidied his sofa bed and put it away. Stowing the bed linen in the cupboard.  
The washing machine was tumbling away, with his dirty clothes inside, and he was busy at the stove, making scrambled eggs.  
Humming quietly to himself.  
There had been a marked improvement over the previous few days, he'd been more alert, focused and significantly more animated, talkative and engaged.  
She threaded her arms around his middle, as he stood stirring the frying pan.  
Leaning her head against his back.  
"Morning!!"  
"Sam! You startled me!"  
"You're up early......couldn't you sleep?"  
"I slept okay. But I was awake early. So I thought I might as well get up."  
They breakfasted together, and they talked.  
Or rather Malcolm talked. More than he had in a month.  
They spoke of old times, when they worked together, funny stories they remembered.  
Stupid things, hilarious things, sad things.  
In the afternoon they walked.  
Along the River.  
Miles.  
Just strolling, holding hands, fingers linked.  
When they returned, they went to bed.....

Malcolm Tucker learned something that day.

He discovered exactly what it felt like to make love to a woman that he was truly in love with.  
It was a first.  
And it was a revelation.  
At once overpowering, deeply moving and far reaching.  
The intensity was almost too much, but it was something he would remember as long as he lived. 

Near the house was a vineyard, where they produced the Rosé wine, that was a speciality of the area.  
With the fresh fish, a Niçoise salad and a glass of the chilled pink sweetness, they sat together at the little cast iron table, under the shade of the cypress trees.  
They made love in the afternoon, a breeze ruffling the filmy curtain through the open window.  
What they shared now was a complete bond.  
Physical love an affirmation of their mutual respect and admiration.  
It was deeply rooted and heartfelt.  
Sometimes she still caught him staring off, wistfully into the distance, temporarily lost in thought, but the memories were now less painful, and were being superseded by the immeasurable happiness he now felt.  
He had a future.  
One that was not defined by his past.  
It was true he was not the man he once was.  
He was better.


End file.
